


Like a Moth

by gloriousthorn



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Angel Wings, Other, Wings, just...wings, that's all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-11-28 00:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20957480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloriousthorn/pseuds/gloriousthorn
Summary: "What if Andrew had wings?"





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to my partners in fic crime, roosebolton and MToddWebster (RembrandtsWife) for encouragement and beta reading.

She’d never thought much of the church, of course, but still she could think of nothing else to do when she saw what her son showed her. She phoned not the GP but the priest—not the self-satisfied young parish priest, but a kindly old Jesuit living in the retreat house the next town over. She sensed that this was not, could not be, a medical matter.

Her son said nothing in the car on the way over there. She could see, almost feel, the now-familiar tightness in his shoulders. It was a gray day, with rain that should have been misty but felt harder than it was in the harsh winds. "Still with all the fog," she commented, stealing a glance at her son. He said nothing, his expression not unkind but unmoved all the same.

Neither mother nor son cared much for the life-sized mosaic of the virgin and child at the gates, or the large crucifix, mild-eyed Jesus looking heavenward in agony, hanging before them as they waited in the small dark foyer. She wondered if it had been a mistake, bringing him here; she didn't regret raising her sons away from the church, after all, and maybe this was too much, on top of everything else. He was barely fourteen, growing like a weed, dealing with all the changes of life this time could bring— it wasn't a time to bring sin and damnation and confession and whatever else into the conversation. It couldn't possibly do him, or anyone, any good. But there they were, and there was the priest shuffling towards them, and it was too late then to do anything differently.

He was a small man, the priest, with tufts of white hair and lively brown eyes, leaning on a cane. "Come in, come in," he said brightly, waving his free arm, "my office is right here. So glad to see you. Come in."

Mother and son looked at each other. She took his hand briefly, and squeezed it, and they followed the priest into his office.

“You both can have a seat there,” the old father said, gesturing to two worn leather chairs before depositing himself rather heavily in the seat behind the desk and hanging his cane off the edge. “Now. Lad, I’m Father Mackie, I know your mam here— what’s your name?”

“Andrew,” he murmured, looking at the floor.

“That’s a fine name, Andrew. What seems to be the trouble?”

He mumbled so softly that even his mother could not hear him.

“Speak up then, lad, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Andrew looked at his mother with a silent plea. “Go on,” she said, as gently as she could manage, as firmly as she could manage. It would have to be his story. It already was.

“Father,” he said, “I’ve— I’ve got these...wings.”

To his great credit, the priest only blinked. “Sorry— wings, you said?”

“Ehm, yeah. A few weeks ago.”

“Lad, in all fairness, I don’t see any wings on you.”

“I can...put them away, like. But they’re, you know, where you’d expect them to be.”

The priest thought for a moment. “You said a few weeks ago,” he mused. “How old are you then, lad?”

“Fourteen, just.”

“Eh-hmm. Have you noticed any other changes in yourself? Other than, ehm, the usual,” he added, to spare the lad any embarrassment.

“Well,” he said, “I can— it sounds strange, I suppose, but I can— sing. I mean, I could always sing, but it’s not just having a laugh now. Like, properly.”

“Sing, you say?”

He nodded.

“You like singing, then?”

“I guess.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Have you ever heard of anything like this, Father?” his mother broke in.

“Can’t say as I have, no. But I’ll pick up a few books this evening, contact some of my brother priests who look into miracles and such…”

“Miracles?”

“Well, what else would you call it? Unless your boy here is part bird.”

“They’re not bird wings,” Andrew interjected. “They’re more like, ehm— well, angel wings, like.”

The old priest leaned back in his chair. “Lad,” he said, “do you think you might show me these wings of yours? Your mam has seen them?”

She nodded. “What do you say, Andy?” she asked. “Can you show him?”

“Mam, I’d have to— take my shirt off.”

“Just for a minute. You don’t have to show your front if you don’t want to.”

He sighed and stood up. “Would you close the curtains, then,” he said, and the priest did. Then Andrew sized up the small office— it would be barely large enough, she thought, but it would do— and shrugged off first his plaid flannel shirt, then his t-shirt. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, and exhaled slowly, and with his exhale came an unfurling of golden-white wings, almost iridescent, even in the flat light of the failing fluorescents in the office. It was beautiful, of course, but a terrible thing— “Are they— heavy,” she’d asked, helplessly, the first time he showed her, and he answered briefly, “Yeah, a bit,” and to imagine that weight on his young, thin shoulders hurt, knowing that this strange beauty came with so many prices and might come with more— she didn’t know what she expected the priest to say, or do, if there was anything  _ to _ be done, but maybe there was something that could lighten the load. The wings sighed along with him, lifting an inch or two, settling down again just below his neck, a few feathers still fluttering along the edges until they all came to a complete rest as Andrew leaned forward, gripping the chair rail.

The priest lifted his fist to his face, thought for a long moment. She looked at him, then back at her son, guardedly.

“I see, lad, I see,” the priest said softly, finally. “Thanks for that. Mustn’t be easy. You can go ahead and put them away and get dressed again.”

Andrew nodded gratefully. He folded his wings and pulled them back into himself again, and tugged his shirts back on. Then he sat down again, rather heavily, in the chair beside his mother.

“I’ve really no idea what this might be about,” the priest said, almost cheerfully, lifting himself up with some difficulty to open the curtains again. The rain was still falling outside, blown sideways by a strong wind, from the sea just a short distance away over the land. “Physical— manifestations like this— well, maybe not quite like this, but— this sort of thing has happened with the saints and martyrs, of course, but, ehm, you’re not exactly churchgoing folk. Oh,” he added hastily, “I’m not going to haul the lad over the baptismal font, although it couldn’t hurt now, could it. Anyhow, what I mean to say is— it’s a sign, of some kind, it has to be. I’ll do some reading, and some praying to be sure—”

“And you’ll tell no one,” his mother cut in.

The priest shook his head. “I hear confessions in this space,” he said. “It would be a violation of my priestly vows. The lad’s otherwise well, right enough?”

Mother and son both nodded.

“Well, then. Nothing more to be said about it. I’ll give you a ring in a day or two when I’ve got something?”

They could do nothing but agree. “Thank you, Father,” she said.

“Of course. Why don’t you run ahead, lad, get yourself some fresh air after all that, and give me another minute with your mam.”

Andrew nodded and wasted no time exiting the office. The priest made sure he’d cleared the dark foyer turning to his mother once more.

“I have to ask,” he said, “why not take the lad to a doctor? They’ll have to find out sometime.”

His mother shuddered. “For one thing,” she said, “let’s not hasten that particular day. Who knows what they’d— do to him. Turn him into some kind of experiment. At very best, they might decide it’s dangerous, just— talk about removing them, and, I don’t know, Father, but I don’t— I don’t know what’s right yet, but it doesn’t seem like— that. So I don’t know.”

The priest nodded. “Right enough,” he said. “I’ll be looking into this. I won’t use your names, of course. And I will hold your family in my prayers.”

“Thank you again.”

“Go and take your lad home. Is he a good lad otherwise?”

“Ah, you know how boys his age are, all brooding and difficult. But his heart is good. Always has been.”

“Right enough.” He smiled. “Go on. I’ll ring you soon.”

She smiled and turned to go, pushing open the heavy doors of the retreat house to see her son leaning against the car, not quite knowing how to do it with the height he’d gained in the past few months, oblivious to the chill of the rain. 

“Get in the car, then,” she said briskly. “Aren’t you chilled?”

He shrugged and peeled himself away from the frame of the car, and opened the door. 

“Are you all right?” she asked once they were both inside. She started the car to warm it up.

“I’m fine.”

“That wasn’t too—”

“It was fine.”

She eased out of the car park and started to head for home. 

“What if there— aren’t any answers?” he asked, quietly. “What if it’s just something that happened?”

“Well, I don’t know, love. We’ll see if he can— tell us anything. Or— would you— rather go to a doctor, then?” she added, as lightly as she could.

He looked out the window before giving a slight shake of his head. “I didn’t—” He paused. “I didn’t think I could sing like this. And it’s all— come along at the same time. I don’t want to lose that.”

She nodded. “All right.” 

“I don’t want a doctor,” he said, more loudly.

“All right.”

“Can we just go home?”

“Yes, of course.”

They drove home the rest of the way in silence. He bounded out of the car when they got there and ran upstairs to his room, not that that was unusual. She listened for the sound of it: a soft  _ whoosh,  _ a breeze that she was almost sure she could feel even at the bottom of the stairs. Then a record started to play, something of his dad’s; then a soft singing that gradually grew just a little louder, warm and clear, like she’d never heard it before.

*

“Mam. For you.”

He held the phone out to her and she took it before he clambered out the back door, off to do who knew what. “Hello?”

“Father Mackie, how are you?”

“Ah, well enough, thanks, you?”

“Grand. How’s the lad?”

“He’s himself, you know.”

“Well, I have to say, I’ve turned up exactly nothing for you.” The priest sighed on the other end. “Some old stories about Saint Vincent Ferrer and so forth, but it does appear that your lad’s case is quite unique.”

“Ah, well. Thank you for trying.”

“What do you need now, then?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve got the sense he’s willing to— he just wants to ride with it.” She gazed out the back door— he was already gone.

“You’re both welcome back here anytime. If there’s anything else I can do.”

“I’ll let you know, thanks, Father.”

“God bless your family.”

“Thank you.”

She hung up the phone, and thought for a moment before going out the back door to see if she could find where he’d gone. He’d gone out to the cottage, it turned out, and she could see the shimmer of his wings through the window, a soft gold gleam from a handful of feathers catching the last of the late afternoon sunlight. She thought about going in and telling him, but it occurred to her that he probably already knew, that he knew from the beginning what the priest would say, and that he was making his own peace with the great mystery he’d begun to carry. He was singing.

She turned and left, but slowly, listening, wondering.


	2. II.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all you Andrew and Alex fans, this chapter features Alex Ryan on bass (not really on bass).

“Hey, where’d Andrew go?”

“We can’t leave without him.”

“Oh, he’d find his way back, sure enough.” Snickers.

“I think I know where he’s gone,” Alex said quietly. “I’ll go tell him we’re thinking about packing it in for the day. Be back in a bit.”

Everyone shook their heads, clinked the last of the bottles together and kicked back for one last look at the late afternoon sky, magnificent and clear over the mountains, as Alex turned to go. There was a shortcut back to the trail where the water began to tumble over a cluster of rocks; he walked briskly over the footbridge and found the trail marker easily, and began the steep ascent up to the top of the Poulanass Waterfall. He knew where Andrew had gone, and why.

Sure enough, he found him in the long, thin light, even the greenest of the greenery tinged gold, sitting on the other side of the waterfall with his knees up, fussing with a cluster of ferns and gazing down at the water, his wings folded behind him. It never failed, even now, to take Alex slightly aback, the sight of his scruffy, gangly friend like something out of a Renaissance painting of Gabriel or Icarus. Still, he tried to keep it casual. “Hey, we’re getting ready to go,” he called over the rushing sound of the water.

Andrew looked up from watching the water tumble over the precipice and crash into the pool below, swirling and eddying as it prepared to finish its descent down the lower parts of the hill. He nodded. “Okay. I’ll be along in a minute or two.”

“Want me to wait for you?”

“If you want.”

“How long have you been up here, anyway?”

“Not that long. Just needed to, you know, stretch.”

“Yeah.”

Alex jumped the fence between the climbing trail and the waterfall with more ease than he felt. “Can you— fly, like?” he’d asked Andrew the second or third time he’d seen his wings, and he said, “I actually don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s not the kind of thing you really want to try without knowing for sure.” So— had he just taken a clean leap over the top of the falls, or had he...tested himself at some point? He was never sure how much he could ask, about the wings. Or anything. He stood as close to the falls as he dared.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked, finally. The sun was beginning to set, and the water created both its own cool spray and a breeze that never quite died down.

Andrew nodded. “A little.”

_ Well, put your wings away and come back, _Alex almost said, but he didn’t, because it wasn’t that simple. He kicked a clump of dirt and pebbles with the toe of his boot. It wasn’t too late in the day for hikers, not at all, and yet Andrew was uncoiling himself slowly, stretching his legs out in front of him, spreading his arms and then lifting his wings, like there was all the time in the world. Then he stood up.

“Want to come over?” Andrew said. 

“Over there?”

“Sure.”

“You think I can make it over there?”

“Yeah. It’s hardly more than a hop, really. Just grab on.” He extended his arm.

Their eyes met before their hands did, and with just a hint of a lift from Andrew, Alex lit over the fall and landed alongside Andrew. “The view’s different from over here,” he said.

“A little,” Andrew agreed. “Spectacular either way, though.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll miss this. When we go.”

“How are you going to…”

Andrew sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Does anyone else—”

“No. I mean, not yet, I guess. I don’t know how I can just— not, you know, forever. Or for the foreseeable future at least.”

“You _ could _ ask for help, you know. From me. Or anyone.”

Andrew looked down, smiled ruefully. “I suppose.”

“It could be a long tour. We _ want _ it to be a long tour, you know? The better it goes, the longer it could go on. You don’t want to have to go for days on end without a chance to…” He never knew what to call it— “stretching,” Andrew’s word, never seemed sufficient for what actually happened, the slow opening of his magnificent... _ wings. _ It never failed to amaze him, never, the same way it had the first time. They’d been breaking down after a late show with the orchestra, when Andrew had absolutely killed on “My Body Is a Cage” by Arcade Fire, after everyone else had gone off to the pub or to home or to someone’s home, when Andrew sighed, looked around, murmured, “I’m going to show you something, and just, like, I’m not making a move, but, just, give me a minute—” and peeled off his shirt and then there they were. In the dim light that remained in the church, just a few overheads left after all the stage lights turned off, the wings seemed to carry their own light, particulate and shimmering. _ What the actual _ fuck _ is this _ was his immediate reaction, of course, but it occurred to him just in time that that question, or any question any reasonable person might ask, was not what was called for just yet, and instead he said, “Wow.”

Alex sighed. “Just, like, let me cover for you, when you need it, if you’re not going to tell anyone else.”

“Thanks.” Andrew looked up, and around, through the tops of the trees. “It’s not that I don’t want to, you know. I wish I could.” He sized up an oak tree and started to climb it, almost casually, his limbs long and loose, his wings tucked behind his shoulders and along his spine. “I just— I don’t know who can be trusted, not just to not make it all weird or to tell the whole world but just...not to ask a bunch of dumb questions, you know? This is just how it is. There’s clearly not going to be any more of an explanation forthcoming from the—” he paused to haul himself up onto the next branch up “ — _ universe _ or whatever. It just is.”

“You don’t think other people can understand that? I mean, I do.”

Andrew smiled, settling himself on a branch a good ten feet off the ground. “Well,” he said. “You’re not other people.”

“Ah, come on. You know everyone. They’re sound lads.”

“Sure.”

“We could work it into the show somehow. People would think it’s just a trick.”

Andrew laughed. “Hide in plain sight, so to speak.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s an idea. But no.”

Alex sighed. “Well, don’t say I didn’t try.”

“You did. And I’ll let you know if I need help.”

“Like if you need help getting down from that tree?”

“Do I?” Andrew pushed himself up to stand on the limb, leaning forward so he had room to open his wings again, reaching up to hold on to another branch.

“Christ, what are you doing, Andy?”

“I’ve never tried, you know.”

“I don’t think now is the _ time _, Andy, damn near two hundred meters’ worth of fall here—”

“I’m not going to try. Calm down, Alex.” He leapt down lightly to swing from the branch, his feet still a good meter or two above the ground, and then let go, the wings billowing like parachutes to break his fall, settling back in place as he brushed his hands together. “You were really scared there,” he chuckled, “I was just having a bit of craic with you—”

“I wasn’t scared.”

Andrew shook his head and smiled, smoothing his hair back in place and then finally folding the wings away. His shirt, jacket, and scarf were folded up in a pile near the cluster of ferns; he picked them up and put them back on, winding his scarf around his neck loosely, and then he pulled Alex to him with one arm. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Alex repeated, but accepted the half-embrace, leaned into it for a moment.

Andrew ruffled the top of his head lightly. “Shall we head back, then?”

“Yeah.” He pulled away and hopped the fence back onto the trail, Andrew clearing the fence even more easily and coming down behind him. 

“Thanks,” Andrew said quietly to Alex’s back.

Alex turned around. “It’s nothing,” he said. 

Andrew shook his head. “It’s not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is FANART of this chapter, omGEEEEEEE, by the very talented CathartesAura (whenthebirdsareheardagain on Tumblr):
> 
> https://gloriousthorn.tumblr.com/post/188473144495/dude-i-amomg-i-cannot-breathe-first-of-all


	3. III.

“Can’t sleep, hon?”

Accurate enough. “I guess not,” I said, shaking my head. “Think I’ll take a walk for a little while.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she said with a yawn. “I don’t think Andy’s even come back yet. If you see him, just remind him that he needs to finish greeting his eight thousandth fan before we pull out at seven.”

“I will. I’ll have my phone.”

“Cool. Later.” She rolled over in her bunk and went immediately back to sleep.

I should have been that tired. I  _ was _ that tired, really. But my shoulders were killing me. I hadn’t opened up in a few days. And when I’d noticed that the festival grounds were edged with a wood, I thought I might just have time to slip away for a bit if we weren’t pulling out until morning, if I timed it just right. It was incredible being on the tour, of course— a different city every other day, crowds so full of energy and joy to hear and sing songs that meant so much to them— and I was hardly even thinking about my...body. But that was the problem: I wouldn’t think about it, and before I knew it I’d be sore, and tense, and looking for escape routes without much subtlety. 

I figured I’d made a graceful enough exit, though. I slipped out of the still-parked bus, flipped up my hood, and pulled my jacket more tightly around me; the night had grown chilly. I thought I could see where a path led into the woods, on the other side of a meadow overgrown with long and slightly browned summer grasses, and had no sooner started in that direction than I spotted Alex, his own hood hanging loosely over his sandy hair, kicking at the ground but otherwise not doing anything in particular.

“Oh, hey,” I said.

“Hey. You’re, ehm, out for a walk?”

“Yeah. Couldn’t quite get to sleep.”

“You’re— going into the woods?”

“Thought I might, yeah.”

“Ah. I— wouldn’t.”

I looked at him, raising my eyebrows. “Why not? I’ve got my phone. I won’t go too far.”

“Well. I mean. Could be...anything out there, you’re not really— prepared—” He wouldn’t quite meet my eyes.

“I mean, here  _ you _ are, out here—”

“I’m not, like, in the woods. I can still see the lights from the festival and everything even halfway or more out in the meadow.”

“Okay, well, I’ll make sure I can see the lights.”

“It’s— you know, it’s late, though.”

“Do I have a bedtime?” I shook my head. “Jesus, what’s it to you?”

“It’s— nothing. I mean, go ahead.”

“Um, thanks.” I shook my head. Why was he being so weird? I was used to a more laconic, laid-back Alex. Out here by himself, trying to police my movements? The dude needed to kick back with a round or two of Mario Kart and hit the hay. Come to think of it, where was Andrew? It looked like the fans were long gone when I first left the bus. Well, who knew. There were already too many adults in each other’s business for one night. I resolved not to become one of them. I just needed to open up for a few minutes and then I’d be ready to pass out. But I could feel his eyes on my back as I sought the footpath into the woods; I could hear the scuffle of his feet against the ground, maintaining their distance but not disinterested.

I turned on the flashlight on my phone and sought the path with my feet and my eyes. The footpath was worn with layers of pine needles and edged in mossy rocks and fallen branches, and too narrow to open up; I’d have to look for a clearing. Still, just being alone took the edge off how tense I’d be feeling. There was the vastness of the crowds, the sense of playing to the thousands and then to the sky when we were on stage, and that was thrilling, but combine the eyes of the masses on us with the very close quarters of the tour bus and there was no time or space for much of anything, let alone what I desperately needed to do before my back exploded. I needed to be more mindful of this, of how the closeness of the woods somehow made space for me, gave me time to breathe. And I needed to find the actual space, and soon. 

There was a light, I thought, up ahead, which I thought must be a clearing, enough room for the moon to shine in between the trees. A fraction of a second too late I remembered that the moon was only a crescent that night, that the color was more gold than silver, that it couldn’t be the source of the light. Too late because I saw, first, what I’d never thought I’d see in my whole life: another one like me. Another pair of wings from another human back. And I knew, of course I knew, instantly, that it was a private thing, that I was not meant to see them any more than I wanted anyone else to see mine. And I would have turned to go if he didn’t see me, so quickly, turning his head, his wings swiveling softly behind him, their rustle so familiar even if so shocking, so new.

Andrew smiled, a little ruefully. “Alex didn’t scare you off, then?” he said.

“He tried,” I said.

“I should have known something like this would happen sometime. Can I trust you not to— say anything?”

“If I can trust you.”

“With what?”

I pushed my hood off my head and slipped out of my hoodie, then turned my back and peeled off my top. I hesitated— it was a lot, to be sure. We were friendly, of course, and bonded over the music and the homesickness and road-weariness as much as anyone else in the band, but this— well. I’d never seen so much as his elbow until now, nor had he seen mine. But the chill, the dark, the soft light of his wings, the tension I wanted to break like a twig under my feet— I breathed in the cool night air, and opened my wings, and heard him murmur, “I thought— I thought it was just me. For years. I’ve been so alone with it.”

I turned to face him, and nodded. “Me too.”

“When did you— get them?”

“When I was a teenager. I wished I could play better, for real— it was all I wanted to do. Then one day, I had them, and I could play like never before, but I also had…” I shrugged and pointed.

“And it hurts if you don’t stretch them out every so often?”

“Yup. I guess for you too.”

He nodded. “Same story.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly self-conscious. Out of similar feeling or maybe just politeness, he did the same, his fingers resting on his shoulders.

“Yours are beautiful,” he offered. “I— well, I never thought I’d meet someone else with— but yours are different from mine. They’re silver, almost blue, right?”

“Thanks. Yours too. Can I—?”

“Sure— can I—?”

“Go ahead.”

We uncoiled our arms from around ourselves and ran our hands along each other’s wings, first with fingertips and then with whole hands. His were enormous, and surely heavier than mine, and downy-soft, and they glowed with the faint gold I’d noticed from the forest path. He brushed the base of my neck before touching the top of my wings, smoothing the edge with long fingers. Our shoulders relaxed in the moments that lengthened as they followed.

“Did you ever wonder— why this? Why— you, why us?” I asked. “Other people must make wishes like we did. Why did we— why did it end up like this, for us?”

“I used to wonder why,” he said, looking away for a moment, into the darkness of the woods beyond the clearing, his wings swishing gently as he turned. “More when it first happened. I don’t think I’ll ever know, now, and mostly I’m all right with it.” He paused. “What about you?”

I thought for a moment. “If anything,” I said, “I assumed it was...a kind of equilibrium. Nothing comes for free. This is the price, carrying something kind of...beautiful, but also kind of heavy, and maybe a little dangerous.” 

He shrugged. “Sounds as likely as anything else.”

I freed the edge of my wing where it had gotten caught on a branch, and smoothed the feather back in place. “But if there’s— you, and me, maybe there are— others?”

“I never wondered too much if there were others. It seemed so improbable. I assumed it was only me.”

I nodded. “I would look at— you know, old paintings and sculptures, and I’d think, There  _ have _ to be others. If not now, there were once. But we’re all too afraid to go out and find each other.”

“This was all I wanted, really,” he said, nodding in the direction from which we’d come. “To have the music. I didn’t think about much else.” 

“I only ever told my parents. There’s never been— anyone else I thought I could tell.”

“Yeah. Just Alex.” He smiled. “Until now, I guess. Is it okay if I tell him? He’s— I couldn’t have done this without him.”

“Definitely, yeah. And, you know, maybe we can look out for each other a bit now,” I suggested.

“I’d like that a lot. Give poor Alex a break, maybe,” he added, grinning. 

I laughed. “Great. Shake on it?”

He nodded. We held each other’s hands a moment longer than necessary. Our eyes met, and he lifted my hand to his face and brushed my knuckles with his lips, and the shiver that went through me shook even the edges of my wings.

“It’s really gotten chilly,” he offered, courteously.

“We should, um...get dressed,” I agreed, quickly.

“Can I just ask you one more thing first?”

“Sure.”

“Have you ever tried to— you know...fly?”

“No. I’ve always been—”

“Too scared,” he finished along with me, shaking his head. “One of these days.”

“Together,” I suggested.

He nodded. “Together.”

And something became solid between us then, like we had never let go of each other’s hand.  We stroked each other’s wings one last time before we folded them away, and finished dressing and prepared to emerge from the woods.

He switched on the light on his phone. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Tomorrow, after the show?”

“Yeah.”

He lowered his face a little, letting his hair fall over it, but there was no mistaking the smile. I  could feel it on my own face, warm against the cool breeze sweeping down between the trees even as the path narrowed as we made our way out of the clearing.

Alex was making a bad show of looking casual as we came back. Still, he managed to choke out the least convincing, “Oh, hey” of all time.

“It’s all good,” Andrew assured him, looping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close. “It’s all right.” He leaned in and whispered something in his ear. 

Alex’s eyes widened. “No shit,” he said softly.

I nodded.

“What are the odds, then?”

Andrew shrugged. “Who knows. But here we are.”

“Well, damn.” He pushed some hair out of his face. “I mean, do you, like, still want me to— need me to—”

Andrew squeezed his shoulder. “I’m never going to not need you to have my back,” he said. 

Alex nodded. “Whatever you need, then. Both of you,” he added, nodding to me.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Cool,” he replied.

“I think we’ve all had a bit of a night, yeah? Should we head to bed, grab a few hours before we get on the road?” Andrew suggested.

I nodded gratefully. Alex did the same.

Andrew drew me in with his other arm, briefly squeezing the back of my shoulders. He knew, of course, exactly where to touch me. The place that had felt so tight, so alone, for so long seemed to breathe inside me, expand, warm up in the cool night, as he pulled us toward home.


End file.
